


ready now

by Feather_Quill_Ambition



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Do not repost at all), (but damn if the concept ain't angsty enough to be worth mentioning), Ace-Friendly Romance, Canon-Compliant, Do Not Post To Fanfic Pocket Archive Library, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Oneshot, Post-Apocalypse (that wasn't), Post-Armageddon, The Bookshop Scene that killed us all, Unrealistically realistic nightmare? Maybe so, not quite angst, oh yeah and, ptsd/trauma symptoms, there's a book-exclusive easter egg in here comment if u find it, this is all in past tense for once which was an experiment that i now regret i'm sorry, unintentional confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Quill_Ambition/pseuds/Feather_Quill_Ambition
Summary: He’d known there was a fire, and Crowley had seen it. But this…He looked back at the demon, in the middle of it all, on his knees, frozen. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes.“You bastards. You heartless, soulless. He was all I had.”-Aziraphale learns what really happened at the bookshop.





	ready now

**Author's Note:**

> \- I originally named this idea 'o no.docx' after the first thing I said upon its conception
> 
> \- The new title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnVS28_KSVc&feature=youtu.be) by Dodie, which is soft and wonderful and very much the ballad of these two babies.
> 
> \- I tried writing in past tense just for a change, and yikes. Not doing that again
> 
> Enjoy! x

“Ssz... Zir'ph'l... wh.”

Aziraphale stirred at the mumble. He had almost got the hang of this sleeping thing, he thought. He'd made progress over the years, from brief snatches of restless silence to a peaceful little thing one might call a _doze_. But Crowley always slept like the dead, he knew from experience*, and when he did talk in his sleep it was nonsensical, a softly hissed word here, a responsive grumble there.

(*Experience that included, in no order: several years of trying to reach the demon’s phone during his afternoon naps. Many instances of rousing him after a night out, passed out in Aziraphale's back room. Whatever this new, well, rather nice bed-sharing thing was that they'd begun not long ago, just after Armageddidn't, on the nights where by unspoken agreement, neither wanted to be apart. And, of course, the entire 19th century, barring 1832.)

Never before, in his memory, had Crowley's mumbled dream-jargon included...

“Zirph..phale. Wh'r you,” came Crowley's voice again, and then, soft, plaintive: “ _Angel._ ”

“Crowley, dear?” whispered Aziraphale, propping himself on one arm to switch on his bedside lamp. Beside him, Crowley was twitching, grimacing in his sleep, and as the golden glare of the lamp hit his face, his expression twisted into something painful and sharp.

He let out what sounded almost like a cry, hands clutching at the rumpled sheets like a lifeline, and without thought Aziraphale was moving, his palm shielding Crowley's closed eyes from the lamplight, guiding him to turn his head.

“Crowley, dear, dearest, it's alright. It's just a bad dream.” He cupped Crowley's cheek and felt tears. “Easy, now.”

“Sssomeone,” mumbled Crowley, trying to twist away from Aziraphale, almost thrashing. “S’meone... killed. M'best...”

“Oh, dear,” murmured Aziraphale, heart wrenching, then louder, too loud in the cool night. “Crowley. Crowley, wake up. Wake up! You're alright, it's alright, wake up, love, I'm here, wake _up_.”

Crowley didn't seem able to hear him, or to respond if he did. Another sound wrenched its way out of him, something like a sob. Aziraphale gritted his teeth.

Well. He didn't want to have to do this. It felt, well, invasive. But...

He looked at the man flailing in his arms and wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I'm coming for you, darling,” he said decisively, and focused. “Just wait for me.”

* * *

_The bookshop was bright, too bright, a wavering mass of oppressive heat and winding orange flames. There was a menacing quality to the fire, something less than human in the way it moved, a meanness about it that felt blacker than its gold fingertips as it engulfed shelf after shelf, vaporizing Bibles, sending rafters crashing and licking its way towards a kneeling figure in black._

_Aziraphale picked his way towards him, heart clenching painfully as he looked around, watching ancient and priceless volumes burn mercilessly around him, leaving ash and darkly smoking nothing._

_So this was what it was like. All he'd had to go on was what Crowley told him, and Crowley hadn't said very much. He'd known there was a fire, and Crowley had seen it. But this..._

_He looked back at the demon, in the middle of it all, on his knees, frozen. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched. Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes._

_He knelt down next to Crowley and dimly registered that he was shaking._

_“He was my_ best friend." _The demon's_ _voice was shattered. “You bastards. You heartless, soulless. He was all I had.”_

Oh, _thought Aziraphale._ Oh.

_So this. This was what it was like. Oh._

_“Crowley,” he said, too softly. “Crowley, this is a dream. You're dreaming.”_

_Crowley didn't hear him._

_“How could you? How could you destroy the one thing,” his voice grew louder and louder, amplified in the roaring silence, “the ONE thing I had? The most important thing in my life, do you realise the holy water would have been better? I should have used it. I should have! Lord. Lord, I couldn't save him.”_

_His voice broke._

_“Crowley,” said Aziraphale again, afraid._

_“I loved him,” choked Crowley. His eyes were still on the ground. “Is that what you want to hear, you monsters? I loved him and you took him away. I loved him. I love him.”_

_The fire raged. Before Aziraphale's eyes, kneeling on the floor of the dream that wasn't a dream, Crowley cried._

Right, _thought Aziraphale in the haze of shock,_ we're off. Warm cocoa, I think.

_**Crowley** , he said, using a Voice he didn't normally use, and laid a hand on his shoulder._

_Crowley jerked, confused, and looked around. As his eyes fell on the angel by his side, his expression morphed, disbelief, then confusion._

_“You're alright,” said Aziraphale, and then amended it, his voice catching. “I'm alright. This is a dream, dearest. A... bad memory. It's time to leave.”_

_“A... Angel?”_

_“I'm here.” Aziraphale unfurled his wings and folded them around the two of them, a shield, an embrace. “I'm here. We're getting out of here, alright? But you must wake up, darling.”_

_The demon reached out and dragged him closer, letting out a choked noise into Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel's hands found messy red hair, and stayed there._

_They clung to each other for long seconds, the dreamscape flickering around them. Then –_

* * *

– They jerked back into the waking world together, Crowley surging up into the angel's arms and clinging with the force of a limpet.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, over and over, unable to find more to say. “Oh, dearest. Oh, _Crowley_.”

“You weren't supposed to _see_.”

“Dear. Sweetheart.”

 _“You were NOT supposed to see that,"_ snarled Crowley, and recoiled from Aziraphale’s touch.

“I had no idea,” Aziraphale said, his voice small, tighter than he expected. “I had no idea it... it was so... ugly.”

The hiss of Crowley's breathing filled the answering silence, hot and laboured. He didn't make eye contact.

“Was that all real?” Aziraphale found his words. “That wasn't just a dream, was it? My dear, why... why didn't you _tell_ me?”

“What good would it have done?” spat Crowley. “What good _has_ it done, angel? You didn't have to know, and I don't need that _look_ from you, stop _pitying me_.”

“I,” said Aziraphale, at a loss. “I don't pity you.”

“It's written all over your face, liar,” snapped Crowley, hackles up in a way Aziraphale rarely saw. “Yes, it was bloody terrible, alright!? We fight, and then you ring and I hang up on you, and then the next thing I know you're gone and your shop is... is... and I know, I _know_ it probably wasn't even hellfire at all, but I _thought_ –”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, softer, aching.

“It is,” Crowley said, swiping angrily at his eyes. “In the dreams. It's always hellfire, and _they_ did it, and sometimes, _sometimes_ all I can hear is our last conversation, on the phone, or the fight we had before it, or when I was trying to call you after and you wouldn't _pick up_ , you _always_ pick up, and–”

Aziraphale reached out and silently cupped Crowley's trembling jaw, catching an insistent tear with his thumb. Crowley caught his hand when he made to move away. Their eyes met.

“You're shaking, dear,” said Aziraphale simply, and Crowley's expression did something strange, and then they were locked together, the demon sobbing into Aziraphale's shoulder as the angel's hands roamed over his back, sending soothing little tingles of comfort where he could, murmuring into his hair.

“It's alright, dearest. We made it. We're here. I'm here, my love. I'm here.”

Crowley made a small, choked sound into his neck.

“Your what?”

“I’m here.”

“No, not that,” said Crowley, and then, “never mind.”

Ah. Well, it was about time to take a plunge.

“My love,” Aziraphale repeated, somewhat delicately, fingers twining in Crowley’s hair. “If that's... alright.”

“Angel.” A beat, a swallow. “You heard me. In there.”

Aziraphale draws back just enough for their eyes to meet. He nods, suddenly guilty.

“You heard what I said. You... saw it.” It wasn't a question. “You really, really shouldn't have, but you did.”

“The story of my life, dearest. Doing things I shouldn't.”

Crowley huffed a mirthless laugh.

“You weren't waking up, Crowley,” said Aziraphale gently. “You were thrashing. I didn't mean to intrude on anything, dear boy, but I do apologise.”

“It's fine.” A beat. “It's not, well, _fine_ , but, y’know. No need to apologise.”

“You've had this dream before,” said Aziraphale, wondering how blind he was to have missed this.

“Yes.” Another long beat. “Usually when you're here, it's... better.”

“And when I'm not?”

Crowley didn't answer.

“Oh, _Crowley_ , you dear thing,” murmured Aziraphale, biting back tears of his own as he tightened his grip on the demon's slender form. “You should have said. You should have said something.”

“Why tell you more than you needed to know?” mumbled Crowley. “Did you _enjoy_ watching your bookshop burn?”

“No!” burst out Aziraphale honestly. “But what on Earth and all its kingdoms does that _matter?_ You can tell me about things that cause you this much pain, and I would like to think I was much more affected by seeing _you_ so devastated than by seeing any of my stuffy old books on fire! They're just _books!_ ”

Crowley made a small sound in the back of his throat. Aziraphale realised their grip on each other had tightened.

“I can't _believe_ I just said that,” he murmured, earning a short, surprised huff of laughter from Crowley.

“I can't believe you just said that either, angel.”

“I mean every word, you know.” Aziraphale pulled back so he could look Crowley in the eyes, as earnestly as possible. “You mean far more to me than my books. I'd sell them all to keep you, I think.”

Crowley scoffed very much harder than necessary. Aziraphale knowingly swept him back into his arms, to allow him to break eye contact.

“Didn't want you to... well. Have to learn the gory details of it all,” came the muffled voice from his neck. “Felt... unnecessary. I just didn't want to trouble you. Sorry about that.”

“I believe I may just smack you. It’s not trouble, my dear, it's _you_. You've been through... far too much, to feel like you're a bother to me or anyone.”

“Angel, I don't need coddling.”

“Stop calling it that,” said Aziraphale sternly. “It's one thing to coddle and quite another to be there when you need me, and...”

“And?” inquired Crowley uncertainly, when Aziraphale didn't finish.

Now or never.

“And. And I should have been. And I should like to be,” Aziraphale plunged on, the words tumbling out of him. “You've always been there for me, Crowley, love, and finding me gone without explanation must have been... awful, well, apparently, it _was_ , especially because... well, anyway, I would _never_ just abandon you, and if you'd like me to stay here every night forever, I'd be happy to, and... more... besides that,” he finished haltingly, taking in the look on Crowley's face and smiling ruefully. “I'm making rather a hash of this, aren't I.”

“Take your time, angel,” murmured Crowley dazedly. “Hell knows I don't want to rush you.”

Aziraphale took a deep, fortifying breath.

“You're not rushing me, darling,” he said steadily, and picked up one of Crowley's hands. “And I'm so grateful. But I'm ready now.”

Startled golden eyes snapped up to his.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley's voice was brittle, low.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, stroking his cheek.

“You heard me,” said Crowley, after several long seconds.

“I heard you."

Crowley nodded. Without his sunglasses, he looked somehow smaller, vulnerable, and by the soft lamplight Aziraphale could see, glowing in his eyes, _oh._

“Oh, my dearest,” he said, unable to restrain the affection bursting through his voice, his face. “ _Yes_ , I love you as well, of course I do. How could I not?”

“Do you, now,” whispered Crowley, high and breathless. “Thought it was my imagination.”

Aziraphale laughed, helplessly fond. He ignored the tears in his own eyes as he pushed Crowley's hair off his forehead and kissed his temple, his glass-cut cheekbone, his mouth – softly, once, twice, a long sigh, _finally_ – as tenderly as he knew how.

“Decidedly not,” he hummed, rather giddy as Crowley hissed a shocked, unbearably _happy_ laugh against his mouth. “Thank you very much for your patience, might I add.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Crowley dazedly, eyes still closed. “Shut your blessed mouth.” 

Aziraphale kissed him again, rather because he couldn't help it, and laughed as he watched Crowley splutter for a second longer.

“Dear,” he said gently, “You needn’t go through it all alone. I'll gladly be here for you, as long as you like, if you'll have me. You know that, don't you?”

“How very fast I go,” mumbled Crowley faintly, and Aziraphale swatted his arm.

“Do you know that?” he repeated, firmly.

“Christ alive, angel,” Crowley muttered, eyes flicking toward his glasses on the nightstand. “Yes, I know that. I suppose.”

“Good,” said Aziraphale, letting his smile grow as he pressed his mouth to Crowley's temple. “Because I don't plan on letting you forget it.”

Crowley caught his eye as he pulled away, and the two of them smiled at each other, shy.

“Now, then,” Aziraphale said. “Cocoa?”

* * *

There was cocoa. There was cocoa, and sleep, and waking up in each other's arms. There was breakfast, and there was lunch, and frequently dinner at the Ritz, and eventually, in a small, cozy cottage in the South Downs, when both of them thought it was time to escape the ghosts.

And there was music.* And as the seasons changed, there were warm sweaters, and warmer blankets, and new plants, that bloomed brighter. And when Adam would visit, there was Adam. And the Pulsifers, and a Dog, and all the things that came with that.

(*Queen in the Bentley, of course, but at home, there were appearances by Vivaldi, and also ABBA.)

And there were books. And there was wine, and laughter, and bickering, and gentle smiles and each other.

And after a few years of that, it was morning again. Crowley was in the busy process of glaring at a fern, and the mug on the table was equally busy willing itself to keep the tea scorching hot and trying its hardest not to tremble. Crowley shot it a look every now and then, but, blissfully, said nothing.*

(*Not that he didn't notice. He just appreciated the effort.)

He tossed the newspaper over his shoulder as he heard footsteps, and Aziraphale caught it and smiled at him.

“How did you sleep, dear?”

“Well,” responded Crowley automatically, “as usual.” Then he stopped.

Aziraphale peered at him over the back of the sofa, giving him a significant look.

“As usual, hm,” he said with a smile.

“Nnh,” said Crowley, wondering when that happened. Then, “Yeah, I suppose. Your tea, angel.”

Aziraphale dropped a quick kiss on the crown of his head as he brushed past, settling next to Crowley with a contented sigh. “I _am_ glad,” he said, picking up his relieved mug of tea in one hand and tugging Crowley's sleek fountain pen out of his pocket with the other. “Shall we go for a drive this afternoon, do you think? The weather's rather lovely, I daresay.”

Crowley tried to muster up his previous menace as he turned back to the radiant plant, but dropped his gaze when he couldn't quite do it. Very much without his permission, he felt a small, quiet grin playing at the corner of his mouth, and with an internal shrug, let it sit there.

He looked back at Aziraphale, who was already halfway through his crossword and was frowning as he sipped his steaming tea, awaiting the demon's reply. The light catching his ring made it flash bright gold, and as he glanced back at Crowley, his face seemed to soften.

“Well?” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Anywhere you want to go,” said Crowley, and smiled.

* * *

_'You said, "I will listen,_

_Tell me it all,_

_You don't like the ending_

_Then we'll find one that's yours"'_

_\- Dodie, 'Ready Now'_

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: [@just-fic-me-up](just-fic-me-up.tumblr.com)
> 
> ❤


End file.
